I lie withing my darkened cell
reflecting on my acts
and how wildly they differ
from those things you call the facts

I did not, would not hurt my love
nor cover her face in blood
if you'd shared with us a moment
you'd know I never could

All I know is I came home
and found her lying there
the woman I loved lay dying
and I fell to my knees in despair
Yes we'd fought early that night
but the only thing raised was my voice
Yes I went to a bar and had a few beers
and I walked there and back by choice

I don't know what happened while I was out
or why nobody saw me go
or why folks at the bar don't remember me
maybe they were all watching the show

But when I cam home and saw her there
I fell to my knees right away
picked her up and held her tight
and sorry was all I could say

I was sorry that the last we spoke
were the words of a fight and not love
Not sorry that I'd done her some harm
or like OJ at losing his glove

But it seems that you made up your mind what I meant
because it was easy and simple and neat
just another frustrated husband you said
with a wife he thought he could beat

And thats all it took to sell them you side
don't bother looking too hard for the truth
But what happens when, he does it again
and someone else ends up next to my Ruth

And yet my time is to be served
my sentance handed down
and in this place I am to rot
in despair I am to drown

Like sentinels of days gone by
They're silhouettes against the sky
A headstone for those still below
A monument we proudly show

Of times when our tin was the very best
when quality counted not paying less
When the work was hard and the day was long
And the mines were filled by the miners song

Their hymns tell tales of life in the deeps
where darkness surrounds and dampness creeps
where disaster can be just a minute away
and you thanked the lord for every day

For generations all our menfolk
proudly joined the line
never once imagining
that we'd outlast the mine

Did you know that you inspire me
in so many things I write
from the perfect way to start the day
to how to spend each night

The tales of hope and triumph
are all based on you my friend
For the way you handle things in life
that would have me at wits end

I know sometimes it gets too much
and you think that you are failing
just remember calmness comes and goes
to the sea on which you're sailing

And even in the biggest storm
you're never on your own
any time of night or day
just please pick up the phone

So I wanted to say thank you
for all you've given me
the hope, the dreams, the poetry
that you have made me see.

Close your eyes and feel my arms,
around you as you sleep.
Feel my breath upon your neck,
as I breathe you in so deep.

Don't let my kisses wake you,
as I place them on your cheek.
As my hands pull you close to me,
you find the honesty you seek.

Sleep in the warmth of passion,
and dream only of the truth.
Of the man who's soul you captured,
with the intensity of youth.

And as you wake and look around,
you will not see me nor will I hide.
For at present moments such as this,
only in dreams reside.

What is this thing called life of which we speak?
Is it experiences we have or those we seek
Is it something to be earned
or lessons to be learned
as we travel through it blindly week to week

And what about this other thing called "me"
Am "I" not there for all the world to see
Or is that just my skin
just a vessel "I" am in
Is that the place where the "me" I seek should be

And finally there's that little thing called love
The quest to find who fits you like a glove
It starts with a first date
interview for a soul mate
And  ends with the release of a single dove.

Now seeking all these treasures is a ride
and once discovered there's no place for them to hide
So believe me when I say
they're close to home not far away
Look closely at yourself, for they're inside

What is this thing that comes to me
and tells me what to write
sometimes in the early morning
or in the middle of the night

It feeds me an idea
for an angle or a line
and then it flows right through me
as if its power were really mine

Sometimes it give's me noble thoughts
full of romance, love and trust.
Other times more physical
desire, *** and lust.

Yet again there are the angry ones
vile, bitterness and hatred.
Not always things I feel myself
so no hunger has been sated.

And other times its quiet
like the inspiration's left
and maybe for a day or two
of ideas I am bereft.

So what is this muse or genius
that creates and shapes these words you see
You would think that if it wrote this
it would at least tell me?

Tennessee

A quiet cabin in the woods,
selling books and cups of joe.
It sounds to me quite perfect.
Just the place I'd like to go.

Wooden windows, shingled roof,
and floors you have to brush.
A place where time moves slower,
where there's never any rush.

A swing out on the back porch.
A rocking chair, or two.
Your little piece of heaven.
Do you think I could come too?

I'd sweep the floors and chop the wood.
Split logs and farm the land.
If that was what it took for me,
to be with you hand in hand.

At night we'd watch the fireflies,
and count stars up in the sky.
Sharing cocoa 'neath a blanket,
and perhaps some homemade pie.

Our life would be a simple one,
of laughter, love and joy.
A perfect new age fairytale,
how you the girl, met me the boy.